


I want to spend the rest of my life everywhere, with everyone, one on one, always, forever, now.

by themoononastick



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco, The Like, The Young Veins
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-15
Updated: 2011-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 11:17:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoononastick/pseuds/themoononastick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four interconnected tales of life, love and fortune cookies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I want to spend the rest of my life everywhere, with everyone, one on one, always, forever, now.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marks/gifts).



> Thanks to cmonkatiekatie, cynthia_arrow & feelforfaith for the beta. Written for the drawn_to exchange.

One of Ryan’s earliest memories is of sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen of the house he grew up in, listening to his dad talk, for what seemed like hours, about love.

A lot of what his dad said went over his head; he was too young to understand the meaning let alone the emotion of his dad’s increasingly angry words. Mostly what Ryan remembers is the off tempo thump the heels of his shoes made as he swung his feet against the metal legs of the stool he was perched on. But some of the key phrases, the things his dad repeated over and over again, sunk in: leave them before they leave you; nothing lasts forever so don’t kid yourself that it will; love is just a word people use when they don't want to be alone.

He can remember telling Spencer all about it the next day, carefully repeating his dad’s words as they sat in the relative cool of the shaded deck in Spencer’s backyard.

At first Spencer’s eyes had widened in surprise, but then his eyebrows had drawn together until they’d knotted into a perfect v in the middle of his forehead.

"But that’s not true," Spencer said. "My mom and dad have been together for _ever_ so it can’t be."

Ryan thought that over, weighing the evidence as Spencer presented it against the truth as told by his dad.

"But what if it is?"

"My mom says your dad’s just sad and that sometimes he says stuff that isn’t true because of it."

"I guess."

"And anyway it can’t be true because _we’re_ going to be together for ever, so your dad must be lying."

Ryan wanted to say that it wasn’t the same thing, that the kind of love his dad was talking about was different than what Spencer was talking about. But then he remembered what he’d drawn in class a week ago when his teacher had asked them to show what they wanted to do when they grew up. His picture had been of him and Spencer on a plane travelling the world, and Ryan thought, yeah, maybe Spencer was right after all.

So instead he shrugged and said, "Wanna go look at the dead raccoon in Mrs Peabody’s yard?"

 

*****

 

 **  
_...the warm little center that the life of this world crowded around._   
**

 

Things are easy with Alex.There are no promises being made and no drama because of them. They just pick things up and drop them again depending on where they are and what mood they're in. Ryan likes that; he likes easy and he likes Alex, but mostly he likes the idea that he could say _let’s not do this any more_ and Alex would just shrug and say okay.

Ryan's been in New York for three weeks now, maybe closer to four. The days and nights are blurring into each other like they have a tendency to do when he spends time with Alex, and Ryan's lost track of the passing of time somewhere along the way. He'd only meant to stay for a few days, long enough to do some last bits of promotion for the album - an interview or two, an appearance on Alexa's show - and then he was due to fly back, but Alex said, "Stay a while" and there was nothing on the schedule for a month or so, so Ryan stayed.

Tonight, like every night since Ryan stepped off the plane at JFK, they're out on the town, partying for the sake of being seen just like everyone else they know. It’s early yet, barely past midnight, and the party isn’t even half way to being in full swing, but the apartment is already crowded enough that getting from one side of the room to the other is an exercise in weaving between bodies and stilted half-conversations accompanied by an oh-hey-I-know-you smile.

This is the early shift, the people who are just starting off their night, using the party to hunt out the best places to go; the hottest clubs, the coolest bars, the spots where the in-crowd are gathering for the night. They’ll be replaced later by an influx stopping in on their way home, grabbing one final drink before pouring themselves into a cab and then into bed. It’s like a tidal flow washing in and out, then in again, leaving the flotsam and jetsam of the party scene in its wake. The party as a living organism that swells and ebbs depending on the hour and the pull of the moon.

In the center of it all is Gabe, playing the role of the host like he was born to do it. And maybe he was. It takes a force of nature to convince a room full of New Yorkers normally more interested in being seen in the right places to forget about what’s hot and who’s not and give in to the absurdity of celebrating Christmas in July. But the paper crowns on heads and tinsel draped around shoulders is proof enough of Gabe’s abilities at work, and at play.

Ryan navigates the crowd with an ease he knows he wouldn’t have felt a year or two ago. Hell, he maybe wouldn’t have felt it yesterday. Tonight, though, tonight he feels comfortable in his own skin, happy to return the smiles and brief hellos that come his way without over-thinking every word he says and playing back the responses in his head over and over again.

It helps that he knows enough people, or, if he’s being honest with himself, that he knows the _right_ people in New York that he feels like he belongs here in this room with the rest of its inhabitants. L.A. may be the place he calls home. But he still feels like an interloper there, like the plus one on an invitation rather than the name. New York is a better fit, but no matter how many times Alex tries to convince him to move here Ryan knows he never will. Being comfortable has never suited him all that well.

Ryan makes it back to the spot he picked out earlier, by the windows that are flung wide open to give the illusion of letting in some air. The heat of the afternoon that stripped the streets of the morning’s rain has left the night air muggy and close with hardly a breeze to stir the gaudy decorations that adorn the room, but there’s enough of one to stop Ryan from wishing he’d picked a lighter jacket for the night.

From his perch on the windowsill Ryan nurses his drink and watches people interact, creating stories for faces in the crowd in his head. It’s a hangover from long, hot summer days that he and Spencer used to pass sitting in a diner on the edge of the Strip, giggling over milkshakes as they made up identities for the tourists who wandered by. It's childish and kind of silly, but it's something Ryan never gets tired of doing.

If Spencer were here he'd tell him how the girl in the red dress with blonde hair twisted and teased into a carefully constructed casual ‘mess’ and the tall, skinny guy she’s talking to are high school sweethearts who haven’t seen each other since graduation, busy rekindling their old flame. And that the couple in the corner are just back from a romantic getaway that was a last-ditch attempt to save their relationship. Or maybe that the shy looking guy standing by the drinks table is new in town and overwhelmed by the bright lights of a big city.

Ryan kind of wishes Spencer _were_ here. He pulls his phone from his pocket meaning to text him, but a sudden burst of noise, loud and discordant above the background hum of the party, draws his attention away.

Gabe is standing in the doorway dressed in a Santa suit made of something shiny and shimmering, trimmed with a million sequins that flash as they catch the light. He’s flanked on either side by two girls in red bikinis with white fake fur trim, and there’s a weird looking guy just off to the side dressed as an elf and carrying an oversized top hat.

It’s ridiculous, and perfect, and perfectly Gabe, and Ryan laughs so hard that tears begin to prick at the corners of his eyes. When he’s recovered enough that he can breathe again he pushes forward through the crowd with his phone in his hand. He breaks through to open space in time to take a picture of Alex sitting on Gabe’s lap, their matching grins illuminated by the lights of the tree. Ryan winks at Alex then posts the picture to twitter with the caption "seasons greetings" as the crowd moves around him and swallows him up again.

~

Ryan isn’t sure why he does it, maybe he’s in a whimsical mood, or maybe being surrounded by couples smiling at each other and having fun is making him a little wistful, but when the guy in the elf costume is standing in front of him, passing him paper and a pen and asking what he wants for Christmas, Ryan takes the pen, smooths the paper out on the windowsill, and neatly writes “love” before folding the paper once, twice and dropping it in the hat. It wasn't the first thought that came into his head, but Ryan knows the thing that was is something he can never have.

He forgets about it almost as soon as he’s done because Alex appears by his side telling him about a club they absolutely have to go to and a bar they need to stop by on the way. Ryan drains his drink and follows Alex to the door. He lets Gabe pull him under the mistletoe on the way out for old time’s sake.

The night blurs into a kaleidoscope of cab rides through streets lit up like daylight in the middle of the night, of shouted conversations over too loud music, and smoke breaks in alleyways hidden behind bars. Ryan forgets each place they visit as soon as they leave. This isn’t a night for making memories, it’s one of elusive moments and brief connections. Ryan lets the world flow around him but keeps track of Alex in his peripheral vision, watching out for the signal that it’s time to leave.

In the relative quiet of a VIP section in some exclusive club Ryan feels the buzz of his phone in his pocket. There’s a reply from Spencer on his twitter feed – "feliz navidad!" - and Ryan scrolls through his contacts and hits ‘call’ without thinking of what time it is.

Spencer sounds drunk on too little sleep when he answers. He’s in Spain, tomorrow he’ll be in France, Italy the next day. Spencer hasn’t had time to adjust to the time difference and his brain is telling him to sleep all day and its keeping him awake through the night. Ryan wonders if his body and mind are acting in sympathy with Spencer’s; he hasn’t seen daylight other than the dawn in weeks. But then that’s no different from normal, so maybe it’s Spencer that’s in tune with him.

Spencer tells him tales of touring, snapshot flashes of festival crowds and backstage celebrations, and Ryan listens without his usual pang of jealousy. The anxiety of separation is long gone and Ryan has a tour of his own a couple of months away, but normally conversations like this leave him with a sense of missing…something that he can never quite put a name to. But not tonight. Tonight Ryan is buzzed on being buzzed, half drunk on the world and half on the drink in his hand, and all he can do is smile at the stories Spencer tells.

They talk until Ryan sees Alex wave for his attention and nod towards the door. He tells Spencer goodnight or good morning and to get some sleep, then ends the call and follows Alex into the early morning light.

They get pancakes and coffee in a diner by Times Square filled with people grabbing breakfast on their way to work. Then it’s another cab ride back to Alex’s apartment and the final stumble into bed. Ryan lets Alex spread him out across the sheets, arches up as Alex pins his arms above his head, hands strong and sure around Ryan’s wrists, gives himself over to the slow, lazy grind of skin against skin as the sun starts to stream through the windows, illuminating the scene.

~

Ryan wakes up late in the afternoon to an empty bed and the sounds of the upstairs neighbor's stereo filtering down through the ceiling. It's hot in the apartment and Ryan feels sweat-sticky and in desperate need of a decent shower and he winces at the thought of the anemic trickle that passes for water pressure in Alex's bathroom. Ryan thinks maybe it's time to go home.

He doesn't bother getting dressed. It's too hot and all the clothes he has with him are night-time clothes, things to be seen in not things to laze around the apartment in trying not to wilt from the heat. Instead Ryan pulls one of the sheets from the bed round his shoulders like a cape and wanders to the bathroom trying not to trip on the loose material that flaps round his feet.

He takes a piss, brushes his teeth, then spends a little too long staring at his reflection in the mirror, trying to chase the dark shadows under his eyes away through sheer force of will. It doesn't work, it never does no matter how many times he tries it, and he's been trying it for years. He thinks if Spencer were here he would roll his eyes and tell him to go back to bed and not get up again until he looks less like he's halfway dead. Ryan sticks his tongue out at Spencer's voice in his head and laughs to himself when his reflection does the same right back at him.

Ryan finishes up then goes to the kitchen to look for something to eat. There's a note from Alex stuck to the coffee pot that says he's at the studio and he'll be back later and that Ryan should give him a call if he gets bored. Ryan peels the note off and pours himself a cup. The coffee is barely lukewarm and overstewed, but it's liquid and it's caffeine and Ryan doesn't have the energy yet to make any more.

The remnants of last night's take-out are in the refrigerator so Ryan grabs a fork and Alex's laptop and takes the whole lot back to bed. The noodles are cold and greasy, slippery and hard to eat sitting as he is propped up against the pillows with his phone cradled between his shoulder and his ear, on hold with the airline. The operator asks how she can help him just as he's shoveling the last of the noodles into his mouth, and Ryan has to mumble out apologies through his mouthful, swallowing it half chewed so he can speak. The woman sounds bored, like she has a million and one better things to do than deal with his call, but she's efficient, booking him on to a flight the next day and moving on to the next call before he's finished thanking her for her help.

Ryan texts, "customer disservice gets better every day. see you tomorrow LA" to twitter then thinks about going outside and getting some fresh air. He settles for a nap instead. It seems like the easier option.

As he's wriggling around trying to get comfortable, Ryan hears a rustle and then a crunching sound and feels something digging into his hip. It's a fortune cookie, broken into pieces but still in its wrapper, the little paper motto creased and folded and surrounded by crumbs. Ryan pops the cellophane and shakes the bits of ruined cookie into his hand, stuffing them into his mouth as he smoothes the paper out.

The fortune says, "You will find love with a good friend," and Ryan laughs a little cynically, thinking through the list of people it could refer to in his head and crossing them off one by one. He keeps it anyway, tucking it into his wallet between a picture of him and Spencer when they were kids and his parking stub from LAX. Then he settles back down again and goes to sleep.

~

When Alex gets home Ryan’s up and dressed, sitting curled up on the couch reading a book he found propping open the door to the spare room that no one ever uses. It’s one of those popular science books in which an author with a whole list of letters after his or her name attempts to explain a grand theory in words the average man on the street can understand; it’s interesting but kind of dry and it’s not really holding his attention, but Ryan keeps turning the page anyway.

"Hey." Alex is leaning against the door frame, a fond little smile on his face. "You wanna do something tonight?"

Ryan's attention is more than half on the book in his hands and less than a quarter on what Alex is asking him. "Huh?"

"Last night in NYC, dude. We should go out and paint the town a whole new shade of red."

Ryan is pretty sure they’ve worked their way through the red spectrum already, and maybe covered orange as well.

"Or, hey," Alex continues, "we could paint the town purple, or chartreuse, maybe indigo. Whatdya think, Ross?"

"I dunno." Ryan shrugs, he has an early flight to catch tomorrow. Or, okay, he has a flight to catch in the afternoon, but that's early for him. "I kind of want to stay in."

"Staying in as the new going out." Alex flops down on the couch beside him, his ever present phone already in his hand. "I like it. I'll make some calls, see if anyone wants to come hang out."

"I thought maybe we could... you know, hang out, just the two of us."

"Oh, it's a _romantic_ night in, I get it now." Alex grins up at Ryan from his lap. "Wait, wait, are you gonna ask me to go steady? Is that what this is about? Because I gotta say, Ry, it's kinda sudden, I mean, I'd hoped the day would come but..."

Ryan is momentarily speechless, too busy trying to read Alex's expression to see if he's kidding or not to form actual words. Instead he just flails his hands around like maybe he's hoping to grab some words out of the air.

Alex cracks up, folding over double and burying his face in Ryan's thigh before sitting up again and wiping a hand at his eyes like he's clearing away tears of laughter.

"Dude! You should see your face! I was kidding, man, I know you don't do the commitment thing, and that's fine, neither do I. That's why this works."

Ryan gives Alex his best glare, the one he saves for special occasions, hoping it will detract from the way his face is heating up with embarrassment. "Fuck you, I do commitment."

Alex snorts, so Ryan punches him in the arm. "Maybe I'm committed to not being committed, did you ever think about that?"

"Well," Alex says, "when you put it that way, want to come show me how committed you are?"

Ryan rolls his eyes, but he lets Alex pull him to the bedroom anyway.

~

Later, when Ryan is loose-limbed and hazy, he opens his eyes and finds Alex propped up on one elbow watching him. It's kind of creepy, and Ryan has to fight the urge to squirm under Alex's gaze.

"What?" Ryan narrows his eyes. "Did you draw on my face while I was asleep?"

Alex smiles. "Nah, I was just lying here trying to figure you out."

"Good luck with that. If you manage it, let me know, I could use the insight."

"Couldn't we all. Seriously, dude," Alex pushes at Ryan's shoulder, "you're like the most complicated guy I know."

"I'm not that bad."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Just..." Ryan rolls away, sitting up and pulling at the sheet until he can wrap it around his waist. He hates conversations like this; they make him itchy and uncomfortable. "Stop with the psychoanalyzing and order me some food. I'm hungry."

Alex snorts. "You're also the most demanding guy I know."

"Shut up and pick up the phone." Ryan kneels his way across the bed, inching his hand slowly up the inside of Alex's thigh. "I'll make it worth your while."

~

They both sleep through the alarm, barely waking up in time to get to the airport. Ryan feels achy and like he needs at least a week's more sleep, sitting in the back of a cab with his bags at his feet and Alex slumped against his side. New York passes by the windows in a blur of people and sun-soaked streets, and Ryan thinks that he could spend years here and not ever really get to know even half of the city enough to call it home.

They reach JFK with only half an hour to spare until check in for his flight closes. Alex gives the cabbie an extra ten to circle round and come pick him up again, then walks Ryan inside. The chill of the air conditioning inside the terminal feels like a godsend against the heat of the day, and Ryan can feel himself starting to relax into travelling mode as he walks over to his check-in desk.

When he's got his boarding pass in hand, Alex pulls him into a hug, arms holding him tight as he says, "See you soon, Ryan Ross."

Ryan holds on just as tight for a minute, then steps back, smiling wide. "Not if I see you first."

Ryan walks through the security checkpoint without looking back, his thoughts already turned toward L.A.

 

*****

 

Ryan can still remember the first time he looked at Spencer and felt something more than just friendship. They were shooting hoops in Spencer’s front yard and Spencer turned after throwing a perfect shot, a wide grin stretched across his face as he threw his arms up in victory.

Spencer was haloed by the light from the setting sun reflected in the windows behind him, a golden glow that seemed to shimmer and dance and highlight the sliver of skin exposed between his shirt and his jeans.

For a moment Ryan was frozen by the fluttering buzzing feeling that started in his chest and spread out across his skin.

"You okay?" Spencer asked.

"What? Yeah. I, um," Ryan desperately tried to think of a lie to cover the thoughts swirling in his head. "I was just thinking about Jessica, that girl I told you about in my math class."

Spencer’s lip curled up in disgust. "Why would you be thinking about a girl?"

"I dunno, she’s nice, pretty, you know."

"Girl’s are dumb. Like my sisters, always wanting to play with dolls and not wanting to play real games in case they get dirty."

"I think about kissing her sometimes, just to find out what it would be like."

Spencer didn't say anything, he just looked at Ryan like Ryan had gone temporarily insane then turned back to the hoop to line up another shot.

Ryan had just started Junior High, Spencer was still in Elementary. It was the only time that Ryan can remember feeling the difference in his and Spencer’s ages.

 

*****

 

 **  
_A truly rich life contains love and art in abundance._   
**

 

They’re in one of L.A.’s seemingly endless number of tiny clubs, hidden at a table in the back in a room full of people caught between careful affectations of ennui and actual boredom. On stage a man in yellow jumpsuit and purple wig is singing operatic covers of eighties pop anthems, while a woman in a ball gown and tiara accompanies him on cello. Badly.

Ryan tilts his head to one side then the other, drains the last drops from his glass then hold it up so he can watch the stage through its base. The image is distorted, the stage lights spanning out in a kaleidoscope of rainbow tints, but it doesn’t make the performance any easier to listen to.

"So, is this ironic, post-modern, or just pretentious shit?" Ryan looks over at Z and smiles as she scrunches up her face, play acting at deep thought.

Z raises her hand like a kid in a classroom. "This is just a guess, but I’m gonna go with c."

Ryan grins and nods his agreement. He can’t even remember why they decided to catch this show. He thinks maybe it was at the suggestion of the weird hippie woman who runs the whole food store in the canyon. Or maybe not, it might have been Runion’s idea of a joke to send them here. Ryan kind of wishes he could remember, just so he can make a mental note not to listen to whoever it was again.

Ryan contemplates getting another round of drinks, but he’s driving tonight and he’s fairly sure he’s already at his limit. The entertainment might be bad but it’s not worth losing his license over. Instead he sighs, rolls some of the kinks out of his neck and stares at the ceiling over the stage, trying to will it to fall down and end everyone’s misery.

When Z leans over and whispers, "You want to get out of here?" in his ear, Ryan is on his feet and pulling her up with him before the "fuck yeah" has even left his lips.

It's still early and outside the sidewalk is busy. People bustle by them in groups, moving from one club to another, laughing and talking as they navigate the night.

Ryan slings an arm round Z’s shoulder and steers her towards where his car is parked on a side street. She’s humming a song under her breath, quiet enough that he can’t quite catch what it is, but he taps out the beat against her collar bone anyway.

He feels restless, not ready to end the night but not sure of where he wants to go next. It’s too late to find another, better show, but too early to find a decent club. Plus he’s not really in the mood for a club anyway, doesn’t want to deal with a mass of people, and if he wants to drink he’ll need to find somewhere safe to leave his car for the night.

When they get to the car Z ducks out from under his arm and spins around, leaning back against the door. "You should take me somewhere for waffles."

Ryan purses his lips and raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? What’s in it for me?"

Z laughs. "The pleasure of my company, jackass. We can go to that fifties place on Sunset. You know you love it there."

Ryan pretends to think it over but he already knows he’s going to give in.

~

"Ooh, there's an exhibition at the Circus Gallery that looks kind of neat. You wanna go sometime?" Z's flipping through a magazine someone left on a table that she managed to grab before the waitress took it away.

Ryan peers over at the picture she's pointing at. It looks interesting, he guesses, more Z's things than his, but still. "Yeah, sure. When are you guys heading out?"

Z bites her lip as she thinks. Ryan can't help but stare at the way red turns white under her teeth.

"Ten days."

Ryan nods his head. "Okay. We can go sometime next week if you want."

"Yay!" Z beams across the table at him then goes back to reading her magazine.

Ryan looks round the diner. It's maybe half full, mostly clubbers filling up on coffee while they wait for the right time to make their entrance at whatever club they're heading to tonight. Ryan thinks maybe he'd like to own a diner someday. He likes the idea of always having people to watch. And maybe he'd have regulars who'd tell him stories of their days, and he could tell them all about his life on the road in return.

It's a nice dream. Ryan files it away for later in the part of his mind that's saved for future plans.

Across the table Z checks her watch for what seems like the hundredth time this evening. Ryan wonders if she has somewhere she needs to be, or someone she needs to meet. He hopes not. He was hoping she'd come back to his house and spend the night, but if she's got plans maybe she won't.

Ryan sips at his coffee and considers asking her. But if he does that then he'll know and maybe he'll be disappointed and he'd rather not be just yet.

Z closes the magazine and checks her watch again. She stretches then rolls her neck then arches an eyebrow. "It's nearly midnight. We should head back to your place."

Ryan manages to stop himself from grinning. But only just. "What happens at midnight? Are you going to turn in to a pumpkin?"

"I might, you never know." Z waggles her eyebrows, then stands up and holds out a hand. "Come on, jackass, take me home."

~

It takes Ryan a moment to realize that the sudden burst of noise is a room full of people yelling "Surprise!" and "Happy Birthday!" It takes him even longer to realize that they're yelling it at him.

He stands in the doorway holding tight to Z's hand, staring at the room full of people and trying to work out what they're doing here. He can see Mike and Tennessee and Laena and Chad and pretty much everyone else he knows in L.A. Ryan doesn't really get what's going on until Z kisses his cheek.

"It's after midnight, Ross, happy birthday."

Ryan turns to her, a huge grin on his face. "Is this why you kept looking at your watch? Wait, wait, is this why we went to see that shitty band?"

Z laughs then points across the room. "That was Runion's idea. You can blame him for that."

"Oh," Ryan says, "I will."

People start coming over to hug him or pat him on the back, each of them with a different part of the plan to tell him about. Ryan feels...he can't even describe it, he thinks maybe he's still a little in shock. He can't quite believe that all these people would go to this kind of trouble for him.

Ryan's looking round the room trying to work out who he hasn't spoken to yet when he's sees Spencer. He's hanging out on his own at the back of the room with a beer in his hand. He looks a little lost and a little awkward and Ryan thinks, oh yeah, he probably doesn't know all that many people here.

But mostly he thinks, "Fuck, I'm glad you're here."

Spencer sees him looking over and raises his hand in a self-conscious wave. Ryan grins then nods his head towards the door. Spencer pushes off the wall and walks over, grabbing a couple of beers on his way. Ryan really loves his best friend.

They head into Ryan's bedroom to escape the noise of the party. Someone's set up a karaoke machine in the lounge and Ryan hears the first strains of _Love Shack_ as he closes his door. Spencer's already settled down cross-legged on Ryan's bed, so Ryan joins him, nodding his head in thanks when Spencer passes him a beer.

"This is really awesome." Ryan points his beer toward the door to indicate he means the party.

Spencer nods. "Yeah, it's pretty cool. I'm impressed that Z managed to keep it a secret from you."

"I know, right? I could never have done that."

"That's because you're the worst secret keeper in the world."

Ryan thinks that actually Spencer's statement is totally untrue. There are plenty of things about him that no one knows, even Spencer. But then Ryan guesses that's a different kind of secret.

"Z's nice," Spencer says. "She's cool, I like her."

"Did she invite you?" Ryan frowns because that isn't quite what he meant to say. "I mean, how did she get your number."

Spencer shrugs. "I don't know. I figure she just got it from your phone, but I'm glad she did,"

"Yeah. Me too."

"So hey, what's all that." Spencer points his beer at the pinboard on Ryan's wall.

Ryan laughs, a little embarrassed. "Okay, so, every time I get a fortune cookie the motto is the same: 'you will find love with a good friend'." Ryan doesn't have to look, he knows the words off by heart. "I started collecting them because no one believed me and..."

Ryan trails off and looks over at the board. There's about sixty or so mottos pinned to it. Delivered by a dozen different restaurants but showing the same eight words.

"I figure it must mean something."

Spencer arches an eyebrow and gives Ryan a look that says he thinks Ryan is an idiot. It's a look Ryan knows well.

"Yeah it means something," Spencer says, "It means you eat way too much take-out. Learn to cook, Ry, seriously."

Ryan pokes his tongue out at Spencer who stands up and heads for the door.

"You should probably get back out there, go spend some time with that cool girl of yours."

Ryan thinks Spencer is probably right. As usual. "You're hanging around, though, right?"

"Yeah." Spencer smiles. "I've got some time before I need to head home. Let's go watch the karaoke.

Ryan lets Spencer lead the way.

~

Ryan likes Sundays. Since he's been hanging out with Z, Sunday has become his favourite day of the week. He likes the routine of it, them sitting in bed, propped up on pillows, reading through the paper. He likes the late lunch and the long walk they take after it, and he likes getting back home and going back to bed.

Ryan thinks he could get used to this. Like really used to it, in a way that would mean he would miss it if it were gone. So maybe he should do something to make sure it happens every week and not just when they happen to have gone out together on a Saturday.

He watches Z for a moment, taking in the familiarity of the way she twirls a strand of hair round her finger as she reads, and the little crease in her forehead as she frowns at the words in front of her.

Ryan makes a decision and then doesn't give himself a chance to over-think it before he says.

"Move in with me"

Z looks up from the paper. "Hmm? What did you say?"

Ryan takes a deep breath. "I asked you to move in with me."

Z stares at him, open-mouthed in surprise. She doesn't smile. Ryan thinks that's probably a bad sign.

"Fuck." Z bites her lip. "You're serious."

Ryan tries to smile but he thinks it probably comes out pinched and awkward looking. "Yeah."

"No. Just...no." Z flaps a hand in the air then covers her mouth. She looks sad and apologetic and terrified. Ryan wishes he hadn't said anything. "We work okay like this, Ry, we don't need to change things."

"Why not?" He has to ask even though he knows he won't like the answer.

"Because," Z says, looking down at the paper again, "this way I can pretend like you won't break my heart."

"Hey, no, I was just being stupid. It was a dumb idea. Just..." Ryan looks anywhere but at Z. "Just ignore me."

 

*****

 

The longest time Ryan went without speaking to Spencer happened after they agreed on the split and lasted for exactly one month. For the first week Ryan was too busy convincing himself he’d done the right thing to notice. But then when he did it became this weird little internal war between the voice in his head that was telling him to call Spencer and the other voice that was telling him to wait for Spencer to call him.

It ended when Ryan came home one day and found Spencer sitting waiting for him on his doorstep. He'd hesistated before he'd gotten out of his car, and by the time he did Spencer was on his feet, staring at Ryan like he wanted a fight.

"Are we not friends any more?" Spencer had his hands clenched into fists and his shoulders squared. "Because I don’t remember agreeing to that."

"No," Ryan said, then flailed his hands as the look of shock and anger that had crossed Spencer's face. "I mean, yes. Fuck, I mean, sorry I’ve been busy."

Spencer waited a beat then punched Ryan on the arm. Hard. "Busy being an ass."

"Fuck you, Spence, you could have called me." Ryan knew he sounded whiny, but he didn't care.

Spencer didn't say anything. He just punched Ryan again in the exact same place.

"Ow, jesus, remember we had that talk about how I’m all thin and scrawny and you have to remember not to hit the same place twice in a row or else you'll leave a mark."

Spencer looked at this shoes and murmured. "Maybe I want to leave a mark."

For a brief second Ryan felt long dormant butterflies stirring to life and fluttering in his chest. But he was used to the feeling by then; it usually meant everything was going to be okay.

 

*****

 

 **  
_in another life I’d be drenched in sweat with you_   
**

 

Los Angeles shines in the dark. Light from clubs and bars illuminates the streets and the sky above them, while out in the suburbs the glow of porch lights and televisions flickering through windows creates a state of perpetual twilight.

Ryan keeps his curtains closed against it most nights.

Ryan’s house feels too big with just him in it. Everyone he knows in L.A. is out of town, Z and Mike are out on tour, Jason’s at work in a studio somewhere down south, Spencer and Brendon are in Australia, even Eric who’s supposed to be home taking a break has gone to stay with a friend.

Ryan knows he could scroll through his phone and find someone to spend time with, but he also knows it would be end up being someone who’s more of an acquaintance than a friend, and right now that feels more like hard work than a fun way to spend his days.

Sometimes when Ryan looks in the mirror he feels like he’s fading away. The person staring back at him has dark shadows under his eyes from too many sleepless nights and pale, pale skin from sleeping the days away. He thinks that maybe the next time he looks the image will be a little more translucent, a little more indistinct. He worries that one day he’ll look and there’ll be nothing to see.

Ryan sits on the bathroom floor and writes a song about being alone in a room full of people; he tears it up as soon as he’s done. He burns the pieces one by one in an ashtray then crawls into bed, soot on his fingertips and the smell of burning paper on his clothes. He thinks maybe, if he’s lucky, he can sleep the days and nights away until it’s time to go on tour, a Rip Van Winkle for the twenty first century.

~

Ryan wakes up to the sound of someone moving stealthily around his room. Or at least trying to. What Jon actually does - and Ryan knows it’s Jon from the muttered “ow” when Jon stubs his toe on the leg of Ryan’s desk like he always does - is trip over the shoes that Ryan left just inside the door way, knock over a pile of books and papers Ryan had discarded on the chair by the desk, and then half sit, half stumble on to the bed beside Ryan.

Ryan carries on pretending like he is asleep. It seems wrong to let Jon know he’s about as stealthy as a drunken elephant.

"Wake up, sleepyhead."

Jon is leaning in close and whispering in Ryan's ear. It kind of tickles but Ryan fights the urge to twitch and continues to feign sleep.

"I know you’re awake, Ry, stop pretending." Jon flicks Ryan's ear and there's no way Ryan can pretend to sleep through that.

He rolls over and squints up at Jon, stifling a yawn. "I might be asleep, you might be a figment of my imagination and I’m still dreaming, there’s no real way to tell."

"If you’d really been asleep you would have punched me by now for waking you up. Ow! Quit it, Ross."

Ryan shrugs his shoulders. "Just checking you’re real."

"So," Jon says, "Eric called. He said you were being an emo dick and I should come do something about it before he murdered you and fed your body to the coyotes."

"Oh."

"C’mon, get your ass out of bed." Jon tugs at the sheets, trying to dislodge them from Ryan's grip. "I didn’t fly all the way from Chicago to sit in a darkened room and watch you pretend to be asleep."

Ryan tugs the sheet back, pulling it over his head for good measure. "You flew all the way from Chicago because the tour starts in L.A."

"That’s not for three days. I’m giving up precious time I could be spending at home to cheer your pathetic ass up, so get out of bed and look like you’re glad to see me." Jon wins the war of the sheet, pulling it clear off the bed and leaving Ryan lying on the mattress blinking up at the ceiling in defeat. "And, dude, take a shower, you reek."

When Ryan gets out of the shower he walks back into his bedroom and finds Jon curled up in his bed sound asleep. Ryan’s first instinct is to throw the wet towel he’s got draped round his neck in Jon’s face, but he manages to resist the impulse for revenge. Instead he grabs his phone and takes Jon’s picture, thinking he can maybe use it for blackmail purposes at a later date.

There’s not nearly enough light in his room to take a decent photo. Jon looks fuzzy and blurred, little more than a dark shape against Ryan’s dark sheets. But when he looks closely Ryan can see the way Jon has one hand tucked under the pillow and the other clutched in front of his body like he’s holding on to something in his dream.

Ryan towels his hair as dry as he can then crawls back in to bed. He spoons up against Jon, laughing quietly to himself when Jon murmurs, "Five more minutes", and throws an arm around Jon’s waist, sliding his hand up Jon’s chest until he can lock his fingers tight with Jon’s.

Ryan lies awake for a while, tucked in close enough to Jon that they’re sharing the same pillow, until slowly but surely the steady rhythm of Jon’s breathing lulls him back to sleep.

~

"So, is this the usual pre-tour freak out or is there something else bothering you?"

Jon reaches across the table and tugs at the menu Ryan is busy studying, making sure he has Ryan's attention as he speaks. Ryan bats his hand away with a huff and a frown. Sure, Jon's question is an important one, but it's not as important as choosing between the brunch special or the burger and fries with onion rings on the side.

They're sitting in a diner that overlooks the beach; it's one of Ryan's favorite places to eat, Jon's too when he visits, they've both come here often enough now that the staff know them by name. Ryan wonders idly if he could convince them to put his picture up on the wall behind the counter. He kind of likes the idea of seeing just how many of L.A.'s eating establishments he could get his face on the wall. Maybe it could be a contest between him and Pete. Although Pete would probably win just through being who he is, so maybe not. Ryan has never been all that keen on losing.

Jon's tapping his fingers on the table top in an irritated fashion, like he's getting bored waiting for Ryan's answer to his question.

Ryan considers leaving him hanging for a while longer, just for the fun of it, but then their waitress appears and Ryan has to stop himself from laughing out loud at how quickly Jon's demeanor changes. Jon goes from grumpy and irritable to charming in the blink of an eye, all wide smiles and sparkling eyes and by the time he's done ordering he's charmed free beers for the both of them from the dazed looking girl.

As she walks away to place their order Ryan kicks Jon under the table, rolling his eyes and saying, "You're such a flirt."

Jon laughs and leans forwards again. "What's the matter, Ry? Jealous? Don't worry, I'll flirt with you later."

"Yeah yeah," Ryan waves a dismissive hand in Jon's direction, "promises promises. You talk big but you never deliver."

"That's not what your mom said last night."

Jon leans back in his seat with a smug grin on his face. Ryan watches him with one eyebrow raised, waiting for the shoe to drop and Jon to realize his mistake.

It takes almost a minute, Ryan counts the seconds in his head so he knows it's at fifty two that the smile slips off Jon's face, and at fifty nine that he mutters, "Fuck", reaches for his wallet and slides a five dollar bill across the table.

Ryan pockets the money with a grin. "The 'your mom' tax was the best idea I ever had."

~

It's not until a day later when they're wandering around the farmers market in Woodland Hills that Jon brings up Ryan's mood again. Ryan isn't surprised that it took Jon so long; it's typical of the way Jon's mind works. He likes to ask a question then drop the subject, give whoever he's talking to time to think. Or maybe, Ryan surmises, that's just the way that Jon likes to handle him.

Ryan knows that his problem is mostly that he doesn't like being alone. He's not good at it, doesn't know how to keep himself busy or occupy his mind with anything other than increasingly dark and depressing thoughts. He knows that if he sat down with a therapist they'd probably tell him he has abandonment issues that stem from his childhood, but Ryan doesn't think that's true. He thinks it's more to do with the fact that right up until he moved to L.A and the cracks in the band turned into chasms he'd always been surrounded by people and he'd never really had to deal with being alone.

On his more honest days Ryan knows that by people he means Spencer, and that what he misses most is seeing him every day without fail. But Ryan also knows it was his decision, the itch under his skin to do something new that separated them. So he tends to not dwell on that chain of thought.

Another thing Ryan knows is that if he tells Jon the truth, if he confesses to being lonely amongst the millions of people in L.A. then Jon will feel guilty. Jon will shift the blame on to his own shoulders and drag it around with him, and a guilty Jon is a moody Jon, and Ryan doesn't want to deal with that today.

So instead he asks Jon about the other thing that's been playing on his mind.

"Do you really think this idea of having local bands support us at each show will work out okay?"

Jon turns his face up towards the sun, shielding his eyes with a hand. "I don't see why it won't. It'll generate local ticket sales at least, so there's that."

"But isn't it kind of gimmicky?" Ryan asks. Because that has kind of been worrying him.

Jon shrugs. "Yeah, I guess, but it's cheaper than having a band support the whole tour. Plus if they're assholes we only have to deal with them for one night."

"You make a good point, my friend."

"That's me, Jon 'good point' Walker, at your service." Jon slings an arm around Ryan's shoulders and leads him over to a stall selling homemade jewelery and trinkets. "You okay now? Is the crisis over?"

Ryan rests his head on Jon's shoulder and thinks it over. He does feel better than he did before Jon arrived. There's still a sense of something, or someone, missing, but it's a dull throb now and not a sharp pain, and faint enough that Ryan can lock it away in a corner of his mind and ignore it for a while.

"Yeah, I'm good. And, you know, thanks for coming to rescue me from myself. Again."

Jon doesn't say anything. He just drops his arm down to Ryan's waist and pulls him closer. Ryan does the same thing, adding a little squeeze of thanks, and they stand still in the bustle of the market for a while, watching the gemstones on the jewelery sparkle in the sun.

~

On the TV Jeremy Hilary Boob, PhD, is covering the Chief Meanie in roses. It's one of Ryan's favorite parts of _Yellow Submarine_ but right now he's ignoring it. Right now, right this very second, Ryan is totally focused on the texture of Jon's beard. On the way it's soft under his fingertips but kind of spiky against his lips.

It's weird, Ryan thinks, that something can be soft and spiky at the same time. Or, wait, maybe it isn't. Maybe Jon's beard is an extension of Jon's personality, because Jon's kind of soft and warm and nice but he can be pretty spiky, too. So if Jon can be soft and spiky at the same time then it makes sense that his beard can be as well.

Ryan's really glad he's cleared that little conundrum up. Now that he's done that he can focus on the kissing instead.

Jon tastes like whiskey and weed, which is no surprise because he always tastes like whiskey and weed when Ryan kisses him. They only do this when they're stoned, and it never gets any further than just making out. It's not about getting each other off, it's more about chasing sensation and riding out the high together, nothing more and nothing less.

There was a time when they did do more than just make out. A time when Ryan knew every inch of Jon's skin like it was his own, when they spent hours, sometimes even days, in bed hiding from the world, trying to lose themselves in each other so they wouldn't have to think about the anger and the frustration and the sadness they were feeling.

It was good while it lasted. They were good together and the sex was great but they both knew it would come to an end. And Ryan knows it won't happen again. There are too many bad memories to go with the good for them to ever be something more than they are now.

But still he can't help the shiver that creeps across his skin as he remembers what it was like to have Jon stretched out beneath him. Jon's hands twisting in the sheets and his eyes squeezed shut as he urged Ryan to go harder, faster, to give him everything he had. And his heavy lidded smile afterwards as they lay tangled together beneath the sheets.

Ryan can't help but wonder what might have been.

Ryan breaks the kiss and sits back a little, running his tongue across his lip to follow the tingling left by Jon's beard. "Do you think that maybe, if things were different, we'd be together."

Jon looks confused. "We are together."

"No, I mean _together_ together." Ryan pauses, thinking of a way to say what he means. "Like, married and living in Vermont with a couple of adopted kids and a yacht."

Jon's eyebrows knit together as he scrunches up his face. "Why would we have a yacht?"

"I don't know. I just want one."

"Oh okay. Just seems weird, you know."

"The yacht is not the point." Ryan says. "The point is, would you have moved to Vermont with me, gotten married and had kids?"

"If things were different."

"Yeah."

"I don't know if I'd want to live in Vermont." Jon scrubs a hand through his hair. "It's kind of far from Chicago."

Ryan laughs because you really can't take the boy out of Chicago. Period. "Answer the question, Jon."

"If things were different, then we'd be different." Jon reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind Ryan's ear. "I just...I guess I like how we are now."

Ryan thinks about it for a minute, weighing up the could have beens against the here and now. He figures Jon is right. If things had have been different then they might not even have met, and if they hadn't met then Ryan wouldn't have a band and he wouldn't have someone to kiss when he's high and all the yachts and adopted kids in the world don't seem as good as that.

"Yeah. Me too. Hey, I'm hungry, you wanna order chinese?"

~

The bus is due to pick them up in ten minutes and Ryan is looking round his bedroom trying to work out if there's anything he forgot to pack when he hears Jon shout. "Heads up."

He doesn't turn in time to catch whatever Jon threw at him. But chances are even if he had turned around in time he wouldn't have caught it anyway, so.

Jon laughs from his place in the doorway. "You need to work on your reflexes, Ross."

Ryan pokes his tongue out and leans down to pick the fortune cookie up from where it landed at his feet. He opens the wrapper and breaks a piece off, crunching on it happily as he gives his room one last look over.

He leaves the fortune unread on his desk as he walks out of the room. He already knows what it's going to say.

 

*****

 

The night Ryan burned his guitar he slept in Spencer's bed. Partly because Spencer's room was right at the top of the stairs and his was all the way at the end of the corridor, a whole twenty feet or so away that Ryan had no desire or energy left to stagger to. And partly because Spencer's bed looked so neat and tidy with its pillows and blankets all arranged and perfect, and Ryan hadn't quite worked out all the destructive energy that was buzzing inside him that night.

He woke an hour or so after passing out to the feel of the bed dipping under another person's weight and the blankets he'd thrown on the floor being pulled up around his shoulders. Then an arm snaked round his waist and he felt the warmth of breath across skin as Spencer crowded in close, nuzzling the back of his neck.

Spencer smelled like weed and fresh air and he'd brought the chill of the night in with him. Ryan told himself that was the reason he shivered as Spencer's hand stroked across his chest.

"You're cold."

Spencer hummed in agreement. "Been on the roof. You okay?"

Ryan shrugged. "I'm quitting music. I'm gonna move to Paris and become a mime."

There was a snort of laughter and then Spencer asked, "Paris I get, but why a mime?"

"I'll never have to speak again. I can just tell my pathetic tale through exaggerated hand movements and sad faces."

"You're an idiot."

"Yep." Ryan paused. "You gonna come with me?"

"Duh, obviously." Ryan was sure he could hear the roll of Spencer's eyes.

Ryan had lain there for a while listening to the sound of Spencer's breathing evening out as he drifted off to sleep. And then when he'd thought it was safe to do so he tried to roll out from under Spencer's arm, meaning to get out of Spencer's bed and make the long walk to his own.

But Spencer just clung tighter, holding Ryan in place as he mumbled, "Where you going?" his voice thick with sleep.

"To my room. We're not kids any more, we're too old to share a bed."

"We'll never be too old, Ry," Spencer said. "Shut up and go to sleep."

 

*****

 

 **  
_as long as you have love in your heart you’ll never be alone_   
**

 

Ryan would really like to know who thought it would be a good idea to tour the UK in December. It’s cold and wet, and the constant sullen grey of the sky seems to bleed into everything, like all the color has drained out of the world, leaving only shadows and monochrome behind.

It’s not much better when they’re off the bus and in the venues. The warren of backstage corridors is the same from city to city, all dark and foreboding, half lit by buzzing neon, with water lying on the floor where the rain has seeped inside on jackets and boots and puddled under discarded umbrellas. No matter how many layers he wears or how close he sits to the wheezing clunking radiators, Ryan can’t seem to get warm. Next year they’re spending December somewhere hot, even if Ryan has to sell his soul to make it happen.

The nights are good, though. They're playing pretty small venues but Ryan finds that he kind of likes it. He can see the crowd better, pick out the people who are singing along and watch the way they smile and clap and turn to each other mouthing, "This is my favorite song". Sure, it's a step down from the places they, he and Jon, used to play, and they're not making half as much money, but it's fun and Ryan's enjoying himself, and that's really all that matters when it comes down to it.

The only thing that doesn't feel quite right is... Okay, Than’s a good drummer and a great guy but Ryan still feels a weird disconnect when he turns around on stage and it’s not Spencer grinning back at him. It’s dumb, he should be used to it by now, it’s been two years and more than a hundred shows between them since he last shared a stage with Spencer, but the feeling of disappointment when he turns and Spencer’s not there never seems to go away.

Ryan figures that that, the nightly jolt of disappointment, is the reason for his dreams. Every night so far since they landed at Heathrow, Ryan has dreamt about Spencer. Most nights it's been memories of time they've spent together, like a greatest hits of their combined life playing out in his head. But some nights the dreams are hazier, more surreal and disjointed, just flashes of skin and heat, and a smile and pair of blue eyes that he'd recognize anywhere.

On those nights Ryan wakes up with his skin buzzing and his fingertips tingling like he can still feel Spencer's skin beneath them. It's like a sense memory of something he's never had and it's confusing the hell out of him. He hasn't dreamt or even thought about Spencer in that way since the first flush of hormones hit when he was a kid. Except he has, because the crush never went away. Ryan just learned to live with it and turn it into something he could deal with day to day, but even back when it started, his mind didn't torment him with images like the ones he sees when he closes his eyes night after night.

Ryan tries not to dwell too hard on what it might mean. It's not like Spencer ever liked him that way anyway, so it's easier just to lie in the dark of his bunk and listen to the road go by and try and go back to sleep.

~

"I think I'm going to call my new album 'Floccinaucinihilipilification." Alex says for no reason in particular.

Ryan puts down the magazine he's been flipping through and raises an eyebrow in question.

"It means 'to consider worthless', that way I'll get my shot in before the critics. Like a last laugh, only first." Alex looks pleased with himself.

Ryan just rolls his eyes and wonders how long it will take before Alex posts to Twitter. Sure enough his phone buzzes in his pocket a minute or so later; he doesn't bother checking it; he can see Alex laughing to himself in a corner with his phone in his hand.

They'd arrived at the night's venue way earlier than they needed to. Soundcheck isn't for a couple of hours and there's nothing for them to do. Ryan's bored, so so very bored. If the weather was better he'd maybe take a walk around the city, try and find a really tacky postcard to send Z or find a cafe he could sit in and watch people walk by. But it's raining, again, and Ryan's not in the mood to trudge through wet streets dodging umbrellas and getting splashed by passing cars.

Jon's hunched over his laptop, laughing to himself as he scrolls through whatever he's looking at. Chances are it's cat macros or an email from Tom, but it'll pass the time, so Ryan decides to investigate anyway.

Ryan slumps down on the couch next to Jon, resting his head on Jon's shoulder. He's kind of tired and Jon's warm and comfortable to lean on; Ryan thinks maybe he'll just take a nap and wake up when there's actually something to do.

Jon points at his screen, angling the laptop so Ryan can see. "Some of these are pretty funny."

"What are you looking at?"

"The replies to our 'ask us a question' thing on Twitter."

Ryan sits up a little and focuses on the screen. It's the replies feed on their The Young Veins Twitter account. About a week ago they'd posted to say they'd answer questions their fans left. Mainly it was to give them something to do at times like this and it seemed like a good idea at the time. Probably because there had been quite a lot of alcohol involved.

"Okay, hit me." Ryan's just bored enough to take an interest. "What do the best minds of a generation want to know?"

"Well..." Jon scrubs a hand through his hair and scrolls up and down the page a few times. "About fifty percent of them think either you suck or I do, or, you know, both of us."

"Good to know." Ryan grins ruefully. He's used to that kind of thing by now.

"And a whole bunch of people want us to play shows in a whole bunch of countries."

Ryan waves his hand for Jon to continue.

"And then there's, like, I don't know how many we'll need to get translated before we know what they say."

"So if we do that we'll know how to say 'you suck' in every language, yeah?"

Jon laughs and nods his head. "Yeah, probably."

"I thought you said they were good." Ryan's losing interest pretty quickly.

"I was getting to the good ones." Jon elbows Ryan in the side to make his point. Ryan jabs a finger under Jon's ribs in revenge.

"Think of this as truth or dare, but without the dare part. I'll ask a question, you have to answer it." Jon pauses, waiting for Ryan to agree.

Ryan thinks it over for a moment, then asks, "Are you going to post my answers?"

"Nah," Jon says, "we'll do that later. Maybe."

Ryan says, "Okay. Fire away."

"If you had to spend the rest of your life stuck on an island with only one other person, who would it be?"

Ryan doesn’t even stop to think about it, the answer is automatic. "Spencer."

"Okay," Jon scrolls down the page a little. "Lets try this one: who or what do you miss most when you're on the road?"

Again, the answer is automatic. "Spencer."

"Who's number one on your speed dial?"

"Um," Ryan has to pull out his phone to check. "That would be Spencer."

"When was the last time you had a sexy dream," Jon makes with the air quotes, "and who was it about?"

"I'm not answering that one!" Because, seriously, there's some things Jon does not need to know.

"Sorry, the rules of the game say you have to." Jon looks far too smug for Ryan's liking.

"I hate you, just so you know." Ryan glares at Jon. Jon seems unfazed. Ryan huffs. "Fine. The answer is last night, but I'm not telling you who it was about."

"So the answer is Spencer then, thought so."

"Fine, yes, it was Spencer. I've been dreaming about having hot sweaty sex with Spencer every night for the past week." The words tumble out of Ryan's mouth without him being able to stop them. "Because I'm head over heels in love with my best friend and I have been since I was twelve. Happy now?"

Jon looks down at his keyboard, smiling to himself like he’s finally hearing something he always knew was the truth, and Ryan’s left thinking ‘huh?’ and ‘how the fuck did Jon know that before I did?’

"Is that the first time you've admitted that to yourself?" Jon asks quietly.

"Yeah." Ryan hates how shaky his voice sounds. He shouldn't sound shaky. It's just a stupid crush and it'll never come to anything and Ryan really needs some fucking air.

Ryan stands up and starts pacing back and forth, trying to sort out the maelstrom of thoughts swirling in his head. His little outburst must have drawn Alex's attention because he comes wandering over, juggling an apple from hand to hand. He moves so he's standing next to where Jon is sitting and peers at the laptop's screen.

"Is Ross okay? He looks kinda...sick. You should eat more fruit, dude. An apple a day..." Alex takes a bite of the apple in his hand, exaggerating the crunch and rubbing his belly.

"He's fine." Jon says. "He's just having an epiphany."

"Nice word, I like it. Epiphany, epihayou, epiphame. Fuck, where's my phone?" Alex pats his pockets until he finds his phone, tapping away at the screen as he says, "So is it a biggie? Has he finally realized paisley doesn't mix well with plaid?"

Jon laughs, then says, "No such luck. And it's bigger than that."

"You lie, Walker, there's nothing bigger than a sartorial emergency."

"Says the guy wearing the stupid hat."

"Hey, fuck you, my hat is awesome."

Even Ryan has to take time out from his nervous breakdown to snort at that.

Alex glares, Jon just looks smug. At least, Ryan thinks, Alex's hat does have a use now that it's drawn the attention away from him.

Except it hasn't because Alex stops glaring at Jon and turns to look at him. "So come on, Ross, what's up, tell Uncle Alex."

Ryan just flails his hands and shakes his head, there's no way he's going to discuss this until he's got it sorted out in his head.

Jon must have missed the memo, though. "He's realized he's in love with Spence."

Alex flops down beside Jon and raises his hand for a high five. "Oh my god, fucking _finally_."

"I know, right? It's about time."

Ryan stares at the pair of them, trying to work out what weird alternate dimension he woke up in. "What. The fuck?"

"Chill, dude." Alex grins up at him. "I guessed around the time you called me Spencer when we were, you know," Alex makes a hand gesture that falls somewhere between obscene and just plain weird, "in bed."

"Oh hey," Jon says, "you too?"

"What?" Ryan flails his hands. "I never...shut up."

Jon shrugs. "Sorry, man, you totally did."

Alex nods in agreement, then gets a wicked gleam in his eyes. "We should call Z, see if he's called her Spencer at an inopportune moment."

"No one is calling Z." Ryan makes a grab for Alex's phone but misses. "Seriously I will break the hand of the first person who tries it and I don't care if we still have shows to play."

"He's done it to me too."

Ryan spins to look at Eric who's been sitting on the other side of the room, obviously listening in. "But we never, you know..."

"Damn right we haven't." Eric walks over and squeezes on to the couch next to Alex, turning to talk to him and Jon. "I got home one night and he was asleep on the couch, so I was trying to get him to wake up and go to bed and he was all 'five more minutes, Spence.' It was kind of adorable."

"Fuck you, I am not adorable."

"Face it, Ross," Jon says, "you kind of are." Beside him Alex and Eric nod in tandem. Ryan turns away from them in time to see Than give him a thumbs up from across the room.

Ryan stops pacing and sits down heavily on the floor. He covers his face with his hands, trying to block out the image of the three wise monkeys grinning at him from the couch. The worst thing about all this isn't the realization that he's in love with Spencer, it's that he'll never hear the end of it now that it's common knowledge. Alex will start coming up with _plans_ which, in Ryan's experience so far, rarely ends well, and Jon will be supportive and yet irritatingly pushy in that way he has. And Eric, Ryan's not sure what Eric will do but he's hoping it will be along the lines of his usual 'lalala not listening' attitude that's the main reason they've managed to share a house for so long.

From behind him on the couch he hears Alex stage whisper to Jon and Eric. "It's like watching a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis."

"More like a baby giraffe trying to stand up," Jon replies, not bothering with the whispering thing, "all wobbly and unsure."

"No, no, totally a butterfly." Alex sounds insistent. "They do that thing where they unfurl their wings and wait for them to dry before they take their first flight. That's what we're watching, he's waiting for his wings to dry."

Ryan wonders idly if he can make it as a solo performer, because his bandmates are assholes. "Can you two jokers shut the fuck up for a minute, I'm trying to think."

"Don't strain yourself, dude."

"Yeah, we've got a show to play tonight."

"Fuck the both of you with something sharp and unpleasant. I'm gonna go call..." Ryan stops, his words tailing off into nothing. Because the person he calls when he needs to sort things out in his head is Spencer, but he can't call him about this.

Ryan's phone starts vibrating in his pocket like it knows he was thinking about it. He pulls it out warily and then stares at it in horror when he sees Spencer's name on the screen.

Ryan stands up, puts his phone on the table and backs away slowly.

Which was clearly a big mistake because Jon grabs it, hits a button and says. "Ryan Ross's phone, how may I direct your call?" and then "Hey, Spence, we were just talking about you."

Ryan glares and mimes cutting his throat. Jon just grins at him.

"Yeah, the tour's going great. It's tiring but it's fun, different city every night, hours and hours stuck in a tin can on wheels, you know how it is."

Jon listens for a moment and then says. "We finish on the 21st. Ryan'll be back in L.A. on the 22nd."

Ryan glares some more, but then relents because maybe Jon is actually being a nice guy and fielding the call for him.

"Yep, Ryan's right here, I'll pass you over."

No such luck. Ryan makes a list of all the ways he's going to make Jon's life hell then takes the phone from him, saying, "Hey, Spence."

"Hey, so, um," Spencer pauses and Ryan is sure he hears him take a deep breath like he's nervous or something. Which is weird. "What are you doing for Christmas?"

The question throws Ryan for a moment. He hadn't really thought that far ahead. "I haven't decided yet. I guess I'll maybe go see my mom."

"Oh, yeah, I hadn't thought of that." Spencer pauses again. "So okay, my parents won, like, this holiday on a cruise ship, Christmas at sea or something, and Jackie and Crys are taking the opportunity to spend time with their boyfriends."

"Holding hands and not touching below the waist, right?" Ryan interjects.

"Damn right, you know it." Spencer's laughter echoes down the phone. On the couch Jon, Alex and Eric are looking way too interested in the conversation for Ryan's liking, so he walks out into the hallway, closing the door on the room.

Spencer is still talking. "And Brendon is going out to Detroit, so I'm kind of home alone and...I was wondering if you wanted to come spend Christmas with me?"

Spencer's last few words come out in a rush and Ryan is a little confused by it; after all, it's not like Spencer is asking him to donate a kidney or anything.

Ryan thinks the question through. His first reaction is to say yes, but it feels weird, _he_ feels weird even thinking about spending a few days alone with Spencer. Which is dumb, because they've spent more time together than he's spent with pretty much anyone else in his life.

It's just the timing of it that's freaking him out, Ryan knows that. If he hadn't just bared his soul to the chuckle brothers behind the door then he wouldn't be thinking twice about saying yes.

"Ry? You still there?" Spencer taps at his phone like he's checking the connection. Ryan should probably answer him.

"Yeah, sorry, the connection is a bit shaky. Anyway, yeah, sure, I'd love to come over to your place for Christmas." Maybe love is a bit strong, Ryan tries to cover it up with a joke. "It'll save me spending money on takeout, right?"

Spencer laughs again. "Definitely. If you're lucky I'll even show you how to cook a turkey."

"And if I'm unlucky?"

"I'll make you cook it yourself."

"But then we'll both die of food poisoning."

"Good point, well made."

Ryan can hear laughter in the background. "Hey say hi to Bren for me, yeah?"

There's some muffled talking and then Spencer is back. "He says hi back. I'm also supposed to tell you he made thirty or so fake Twitter accounts so he can leave you and Jon a bunch of embarrassing questions."

Ryan laughs. "Tell him we already worked that out."

"I'll tell him in a minute," Spencer says. "Look, I'll let you get back to the stuff you were doing, just... come over when you're done sleeping after you get back, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay." Ryan smiles. He wonders if Spencer can tell he's smiling all the way away in L.A.

"See you later, Ry."

"Bye, Spence."

Ryan ends the call and slumps back against the wall, trying to decide if agreeing to spend Christmas with Spencer is a good idea or the worst decision he's ever made.

Through the closed door beside him he hears Alex shout, "Fly, Ross, fly!"

Ryan doesn't feel at all guilty when he jerks the door open without warning and Alex and Jon sprawl out into the hallway, landing in a tangled heap at his feet.

~

Ryan avoids the party after the show. He feels off-balance and unsure of himself, and he has ever since Spencer's call and the conversation before it. He's definitely not in the mood to deal with a room full of people he barely knows. Instead he climbs back on the tour bus and curls up in the lounge, wrapped in a blanket to ward off the worst of the night's chill.

He's been sitting there staring in to space and trying his best not to think about anything for maybe half an hour when he hears the door to the bus hiss open. He listens to the sounds of footsteps walking through the bus and looks up when he hears someone clear their throat. Jon is standing in the doorway with a shaky smile on his face and a pair of take-out cups from Starbucks in his hands. If Ryan were to hazard a guess he'd say they contain hot chocolate; it's Jon's default drink choice when he thinks someone needs comforting.

"You okay?" Jon asks.

Ryan just shrugs. He's not really in the mood to talk about things.

Jon sits down beside him and passes over one of the cups in his hand. "So, um, sorry I was kind of an ass earlier. I didn't realize it was such a big deal."

Jon looks really apologetic, but Ryan isn't done wallowing yet, so he just shrugs again.

"No, hey, Ryan, come on, it's going to be fine, trust me." Jon shifts closer, putting his arm round Ryan's shoulder.

Ryan leans against Jon's chest, sipping at his hot chocolate and trying to let the feel of Jon's fingers carding through his hair soothe his worries away.

~

The rest of the tour goes smoothly. Jon and Alex treat him like he's fragile and might break any second for a couple of days, but Ryan gets sick of it almost immediately and starts pulling pranks on them until they can't do anything but treat him normally again.

He still gets the same jolt of disappointment when he turns around on stage and sees Than and not Spencer. And he can't help but notice the little flashes of guilt that cross Alex's and Jon's faces when they mention Spencer's name. But the dreams stop, and for the most part Ryan feels like he's getting over his little freak out and learning to deal with things again.

After all, he's felt this way about Spencer for years, so he's used to tucking the thoughts away in dark corners of his mind where they'll never see the light of day.

~

Ryan gets home late on the 22nd, or more like early on the 23rd. He feels wired and shaky; he's felt that way since he changed planes in New York. It was weird leaving everyone else behind at the airport - Jon to catch his flight to Chicago, Alex and Than heading off home, Eric going to stay with his folks for the holidays.

As he was sitting in the departure lounge on his own Ryan had wondered if it had always felt this way for Jon when they toured before; everyone else going one way while he headed off on his own in a different direction. It wasn't a nice feeling, Ryan didn't think he could have done it as often as Jon did. But then Jon has always been more self-sufficient than Ryan, so maybe it hadn't been so bad for him.

But now Ryan's home alone, too tired to stay awake and too exhausted to sleep.

He walks from room to room, not sure what to do with himself and trying not to think about the day after tomorrow - Christmas Eve - when he's supposed to be heading over to Spencer's house.

He makes a pot of coffee then sits down in front of the TV, flipping through the film channels looking for something to watch. TNT is having a Christmas marathon so Ryan settles on that, losing himself in watching Jimmy Stewart talking to his angel and then the Grinch and his heart that grows three sizes. By the time he falls asleep, curled up on the couch with the TV still playing, there are birds singing outside in the trees.

~

Ryan wakes up with a start, confused and disorientated. For a minute he can't work out where he is or how long he's slept, jetlag and post-tour exhaustion making everything seem hazy and blurred.

On the TV Michael Caine throws a window open and asks a street full of puppets what day it is and Ryan considers doing the same thing. Except the chances of there being anyone, even a puppet, outside his window who can answer him are pretty slim. Unless the coyotes have gotten smarter since he's been gone.

Ryan thinks maybe he could post to Twitter, ask the masses what day it is like a modern twist on an old tale. But then the fog in his brain clears a little and he realizes he can just look at the readout on his phone to find the date.

His phone tells him it's already Christmas Eve. He's been asleep for more than a day and he's got a dozen missed calls, half of them from Spencer.

Ryan curses and jumps to his feet, ignoring the rush of blood that makes him sway and the ache in his back from sleeping on the couch for so long. He needs a shower badly, and to pack a bag and find the gifts he got Spencer in England, but most of all he needs to return Spencer's calls.

Spencer sounds pissed when he answers, his, "Hey, Ryan" tinged with something that sounds a lot like disappointment.

"Hey, hi, sorry sorry, I'm on my way, I promise." Ryan is throwing clothes into his rucksack with one hand and holding the phone in the other. "I got back really late and I just woke up. Seriously, Spence, I missed a whole day."

"Oh, okay, cool." Spencer sounds happier already and Ryan breathes a sigh of relief. "So Pete's having a party tonight and I said we'd make an appearance. You can meet me there if it's easier?"

Ryan thinks about it, but no, he'd much rather go to Spencer's and then on to Pete's, that way he can take his car and leave it on Spencer's driveway.

"No no, I'll only be, like, half an hour or so." Ryan pulls off his shirt and sniffs at his armpit. "Wait, make that an hour, I really need to take a shower."

Spencer laughs and says he'll wait for Ryan to get there. Ryan hangs up and looks around his room, trying to remember where he put his keys.

~

Spencer is drunk. Gloriously, amazingly, hilariously drunk. Ryan can’t decide which one of them will be in more pain in the morning, Spencer from his hangover or himself from the way his facial muscles feel stretched and frozen in a grin that’s been threatening to split his face in half since Spencer decided to show the party the best way to do The Bump.

Ryan’s standing on the edge of the room, one eye on the chaos that Spencer is creating and one on Ashlee who’s filling him in on all the gossip he missed when he was out on tour. He’s been nursing a beer for an hour or so. It’s warm and a little flat when he sips at it and he doesn’t really want it, but he keeps a hold of it anyway.

Ashlee leans in to whisper a particularly juicy tidbit, but Ryan doesn’t catch what she says, his attention solely focused on Pete who’s grabbed hold of Spencer’s hips and is trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to lead him round the room in what may or may not be an attempt at a waltz. Ryan hopes to god that neither of them try to dip the other. That's bound to end in tears, and possibly broken limbs. Brendon will kill him if he gives him back Spencer after the holidays with an arm or a leg in a cast.

Ashlee groans and buries her face in Ryan’s shoulder, muttering, "My husband, ladies and gentlemen." Ryan pats her back consolingly, smiling at how fond she sounds even though she’s complaining. But even as he’s doing it he gets a little pang of jealousy that he can’t say something similar. Not that he wishes he and Spencer were married, it’s just that ‘my best friend’ doesn’t have quite the ring to it that something like ‘my boyfriend’ would have.

And yeah, Ryan thinks, he’s definitely had enough to drink if he’s thinking things like that. He promised himself he’d get through Christmas without getting melancholy and sad and wishing for things he can never have.

Pete waltzes Spencer over to where they’re standing, grinning manically as he works through the complicated task of disentangling Spencer’s arms from around his waist and transferring him over so he’s propped up against Ryan, his arms thrown haphazardly around Ryan’s neck. Spencer’s heavy against him, so much so that Ryan has to shuffle them both back carefully until he can lean against the wall to help support their combined weight.

"Is he okay?" Ashlee reaches over and smoothes Spencer’s hair away from his face, concern in her expression.

Spencer nuzzles into Ryan’s neck, sighing contentedly and pressing his lips against Ryan’s jaw. Ryan thinks maybe it’s time he poured Spencer into a cab and got him home so he can throw up and pass out in peace. Hopefully in that order.

"Yeah, he’s fine, but I think I’m gonna take him home just in case."

"You guys can stay here if you want." Pete looks over at Ashlee as he suggests it, waiting for her to nod in agreement before he continues, "The guest room’s free, or there’s a pull-out bed in the couch in my office if you don’t think he’ll make it that far."

Ryan thinks it over; it’s a nice offer and it will save him a lot of trouble, but Spencer’s going to feel like crap when he wakes up and that kind of thing is way easier to handle in your own house, so.

"Nah, it’s okay, you guys don’t need us here when you’re opening presents from Santa." Ryan feels Spencer slipping down a little, so he winds his arms round Spencer’s waist to hold him up. "Just, can you do me a favor and call the cab for me, my hands are kind of full."

"Hey, no," Ashlee holds up a hand. "I’ll drive you, it’ll be easier."

"Are you sure?" Ryan asks. As much as he knows Spencer will feel better waking up in his own bed, he also knows that Spencer hates feeling like he's putting people out or being a burden on anyone.

"It’s fine, don’t worry. I’ve been sticking to Coke all evening and this way if he pukes in the back of the car it’ll just mean I’ll own his soul," Ashlee grins, "you know, instead of him having to pay valeting fees."

"Come on." Pete pulls one of Spencer’s arms from Ryan’s neck and drapes it round his own. "I’ll help you get him to the car."

~

The ride back to Spencer’s house is uneventful. Spencer passes out pretty much as soon as they get him in the car and Ashlee seems content to hum along to the radio up front while Ryan keeps an eye on Spencer in the back.

Ryan’s kind of dreading getting Spencer out of the car, not really sure if he and Ashlee combined will have the strength to haul his dead weight inside if they need to. But Spencer wakes up easily when Ryan nudges his shoulder and tells him they’re home, and once they’ve tugged him out of the car he starts walking up the path to his front door under his own steam.

Ashlee pulls Ryan into a tight hug, pushing up on to her tiptoes to brush a goodbye kiss against his cheek. "Tell Spence we have the whole night on tape, yeah?"

Ryan takes a step back and looks at her quizzically. "Really?"

"Nah, I'm just kidding, but it'd be fun to make him think we do." Ashlee grins as she climbs back in her car, pulling her seatbelt on then waving as she pulls away.

Ryan watches Ashlee drive down the road until she disappears from sight round a corner. He feels like he needs to take a moment to breathe, to order his thoughts, before he deals with getting Spencer into the house and in to bed. It's stupid, but it just feels...domestic in a way that Ryan knows in his heart it isn't. It's just one friend helping another friend out, not anything more. Ryan squares his shoulders and turns towards the house.

Spencer is leaning on the door, his head pressed against the wood and his hand raised to the lock like he got halfway through trying to turn the key and passed out again. Ryan can't help but laugh. He thinks about trying to take a picture with his phone to capture the scene for all time, but he figures it's probably best to just get Spencer inside the house before he falls over and hurts himself.

It's not easy juggling the tasks of keeping Spencer on his feet and getting the door open and them both inside but Ryan manages it somehow. He props Spencer up so he's half sitting on the little table in the hallway, heels off his shoes and takes off his coat, then turns to do the same for Spencer.

Spencer's eyes are glassy and unfocused and he's mumbling to himself. Little snatches of conversation that Ryan can't quite catch, but he thinks he maybe hears his name a couple of times as he's trying to get Spencer to move his arms enough to remove his coat. When he kneels down to untie Spencer's laces, Spencer sighs happily and then Ryan feels a hand on his head, Spencer's fingers carding through his hair trying to tug him forward, and he closes his eyes and bites down on his lip trying to chase the thoughts of how he's dreamt about Spencer doing the same thing under a whole other set of circumstances.

Ryan pushes himself to his feet quickly enough that he sways a little from the blood rush. Spencer puts a hand on his chest and at first Ryan thinks Spencer's trying to steady him, but then Spencer tugs him forward until they're pressed together and Ryan can smell the alcohol on Spencer's breath.

Spencer leans forward, pressing his face against Ryan's shoulder and whispering, "'m drunk" like it's a big secret, before leaning back again and staring at the ceiling.

There's a strand of hair hanging in Spencer's face and he keeps blowing at it to get it to move. Ryan reaches out and tucks it behind Spencer's ear then let's his hand curl round the back of Spencer's neck. "Yeah, Spence, I know."

Spencer stops staring at the ceiling and stares at Ryan instead. His eyes are clearer now and a little bit wild looking.

"No no, you don't get it, 'm really, really, _really_ drunk," Spencer grabs Ryan's shirt and pulls him forward again, "and that's why I'm going to kiss you now."

"Wait, wha..." Ryan doesn't get a chance to finish his question because Spencer's kissing him. It's sloppy and messy and Spencer tastes like tequila and beer; it's simultaneously the best and the worst kiss that Ryan's ever had.

Ryan gets lost in the kiss for a moment. Lost in the feel of Spencer's lips against his and the happy little noises Spencer's makes as their tongues meet and tangle together, lost in the fantasy that he's getting what he finally realized he's wanted all these years.

But then he remembers that Spencer's drunk, drunker than he's seen him in ages, and Ryan may be an asshole and he may have done a lot of things that he regrets, but he's not so desperate to get what he wants that he'd ever take advantage of anyone when they're in a state like this. And especially not Spencer.

Ryan breaks the kiss and pulls away from Spencer, trying not to notice the way Spencer follows him or the way Spencer's hands are grabbing at thin air like he's trying to catch hold of Ryan and pull him back in. Ryan flails his hands in the air trying to work out what to do. It's too late to call anyone for advice, and besides, what would he say anyway: _Spencer kissed me, send help!_ He'd sound ridiculous and Spencer's going to be embarrassed enough in the morning without knowing there was someone else to witness...whatever this is.

Spencer, though, Spencer seems oblivious to the chaos he's creating. He's just sitting on the table with his eyes closed, smiling as he says, "I've wanted to do that for years. _Years_."

"You've wanted to do what for years, Spence?" The words are out of Ryan's mouth before he has a chance to think what he's saying.

Spencer opens his eyes then rolls them, looking at Ryan like he's the dumbest person on Earth. "Kiss you, stupid. So so long, like, since we were kids."

Something his dad used to say flashes through Ryan's head - _there's truth at the bottom of a glass_ \- and he can't help but ask, "So why didn't you?"

Spencer sighs. "Because you were always kissing someone else. And, and, you don't believe in love and that's stupid, you're stupid, why are you so stupid?" He emphasizes the last few words by jabbing a finger against Ryan's chest.

Ryan grabs Spencer's hand and holds it, thinking back over all the conversations they've had over the years and all the things Spencer has been saying to him that he just didn't hear. "Because I don't listen to you enough."

"Damn right." Spencer nods his head, glaring at Ryan like he's daring him to argue as he says, "You should listen to me all the time, then we could kiss and I wouldn't feel sad."

And that, that right there, the idea that he's been making Spencer sad, is something Ryan just doesn't have the energy to deal with right now. It's too late at night, Ryan's too tired and Spencer's too drunk, and if they're going to have this conversation they should have it when they're both sober enough to remember it. And anyway Spencer's eyes are drooping closed and he keeps jerking his head up like he's fighting the urge to sleep.

So instead of asking Spencer any more questions, Ryan puts an arm around his waist and pulls him to his feet. "Come on, let's get you into bed."

There's no way he's going to get Spencer up the stairs in the state he's in so Ryan guides him to the lounge. The couch is long enough and wide enough that Spencer can sleep comfortably on it, and there's a big overstuffed armchair that Ryan can curl up in; he wants to stay close just in case Spencer needs anything in the night.

Spencer is pretty much asleep on his feet but Ryan manages to get him settled on his side on the couch, with a couple of cushions for a pillow. He digs a couple of blankets out of the chest in the corner, throws one onto the chair for himself and covers Spencer with the other. He thinks he probably should have gotten Spencer to drink some water before he went to sleep, but it's too late now.

Just as Ryan's backing away from the couch, Spencer reaches out and grabs hold of his arm. His eyes are closed but his voice is clear when he asks, "Can I tell you a secret?"

Ryan smiles. "Yeah sure, Spence."

Spencer pulls him closer then tugs on his arm until Ryan kneels down beside the couch, then he half-says, half-whispers, "I'm in love with Ryan Ross. He's my best friend and he's an idiot, but I love him anyway." Spencer lets go of Ryan's arm and brings a finger to his lips. "But, shhhh, don't tell Ryan, okay?"

Ryan can't decide if he wants to laugh or cry, he settles for saying, "I promise." Adding, "How 'bout I tell you a secret too?" when Spencer frowns like he doesn't believe him.

"'kay."

Ryan takes a deep breath, then says, "Ryan's kind of in love with you too."

"Yeah?" Spencer smiles, the big, wide smile that Ryan knows so well. It's beautiful and devastating at the same time.

Ryan leans in and presses a kiss to Spencer's forehead. "Yeah."

Spencer murmurs, "Good, that's good," before his breathing evens out and he's asleep.

~

When Ryan wakes up the couch is empty. The blanket is lying discarded on the floor, and Spencer is nowhere to be seen. For a moment Ryan is gripped by a fear that Spencer has run out on him, taken the walk of shame off into the sunrise. But then he remembers he's at Spencer's house, so that probably isn't the case.

He hears a noise from the kitchen, so he gets up to investigate, yawning and stumbling a little as he walks. Ryan thinks he could do with a lot more sleep.

Spencer is standing in front of the oven, staring at it like it holds the secrets of the universe. Ryan leans against the door frame, waiting for Spencer to notice his presence.

"I'm trying to remember how long it takes to cook a turkey." Spencer doesn't turn to look at him, he just keeps staring at the oven.

Ryan tries to hold back a laugh but doesn't really manage it. "Why are you trying to remember that?"

"I promised you turkey, you know, all festive and stuff." Spencer finally turns away from the oven and looks at Ryan. "I'm pretty sure my mom always gets up at dawn to put hers on, so."

"No no, seriously, Spence. We can have turkey tomorrow. You're not in a fit state to cook today."

Spencer runs his hands through his hair and shakes his head. "Yeah, I think I'm maybe a little bit drunk still. Unless the room is actually spinning, in which case I'm fine."

Ryan walks towards Spencer then stops when Spencer starts to back away.

"I was also trying to decide between ritual suicide and hoping you woke up with amnesia." Spencer looks at Ryan with a worried look on his face. "Do you have amnesia?"

Ryan shakes his head, no.

"Okay," Spencer says, "suicide it is."

Ryan frowns, thinking over what Spencer said last night and wondering if he changed his mind. "Why do you... What do you remember about last night?"

Spencer winces and his face starts to flush with embarrassment. "I remember being incredibly drunk and telling you things I promised myself I never would."

"Oh." Ryan steps closer, crowding Spencer back against the counter and giving him nowhere to run to. "But did you mean them, those things you promised not to say?"

"Ryan, don't." Spencer looks away, refusing to meet Ryan's eyes.

"Okay, fine, I'll go first." Ryan turns Spencer's face with a finger under his chin. "Spencer James Smith, I am in love with you and I always have been. And, honestly, if I still feel that way after watching you dancing last night, it's never going to change."

Spencer's eyes go wide in amazement, like he's hearing Ryan's words for the first time. Ryan tilts his head to the side. "Do you remember me telling you that last night?"

Spencer shakes his head. Ryan rolls his eyes.

"Trust you to forget the important bit."

"But I... but you..." Spencer flails his hands. "Wait, What? You love me?"

Ryan nods his head yes this time, and then proves it with a kiss.

It's a way better kiss than the one they shared the night before. Spencer grabs hold of Ryan's shirt and pulls him close, then closer still, like he's trying to crawl under Ryan's skin. Ryan thinks that Spencer just needs to realize he's already there.

When they break apart Ryan is panting for breath and Spencer's swaying on his feet. Ryan wants to think that it's due to his awesome kissing technique. But he thinks it's more likely to do with how much Spencer had to drink and how little sleep he's had.

Ryan takes Spencer's hand and pulls him out of the kitchen and toward the stairs, saying, "Come on, let's go to bed."

Spencer stops in his tracks. "There's no way I am doing anything other than sleep, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it." Ryan smiles. "I figure we've waited this long, what's another few hours."

"I was thinking more like days. As in, I'm going to sleep for..."

Ryan doesn't let Spencer finish, he just kisses him again and then drags him up the stairs to bed.

~

Later, much later, when they're curled up together on the couch, watching _Scrooged_ on TNT and eating take-out straight from the carton, Spencer passes Ryan a fortune cookie that's been lying neglected at the bottom of the delivery bag.

Ryan snaps it in two, keeping half for himself and giving the other half back to Spencer, then he turns over the slip of paper expecting to see the same familiar fortune he's been getting since July.

But instead of telling him he'll find love with a good friend, the fortune reads, "You got your wish."

**Author's Note:**

>  _...the warm little center that the life of this world crowded around._ ~ Chuck Palanhiuk - Fight Club
> 
>  _A truly rich life contains love and art in abundance._ ~ Fortune cookie motto
> 
>  _in another life I’d be drenched in sweat with you_ ~ The Guillemots - Get Over It
> 
>  _as long as you have love in your heart you’ll never be alone_ ~ As Tall As Lions - Home Is Where You're Happy


End file.
